Cash shook his head. I was more worried about myself. He made his way to a somewhat promising shop. It looked like a rusty shed held together by coat hangers and duct tape, which made it practically a boutique compared to the shops next to it. The wind slammed against the blue-tarped roof, practically ripping it from its frame.
He stepped inside. A tiny, shriveled man in tattered rags and an eyepatch looked up from his position behind a dilapidated counter.
"Steal something, and Bart takes your knees."
"Who's Bart?"
"You're talking to Bart. Bartholomew Christof the Third, at your service."
"Well, I'm not here to steal, Bart."
"Everyone is here to steal."
Cash sighed as he scanned the piles of mostly rusty and broken vehicle parts. "I just need to rebuild an anti-grav repulsor for my skim rig."
"That you who busted down a few miles out?"
Cash looked up in surprise. "How do you know that?"
Bart's ugly face split into a toothy grin. "Bart knows what he knows. Word travels fast, partner. You'd do good to get back to your skimmer before the Velociriders take it from you. You can bet they're making plans to do that right now."
"Velociriders? Man, that's a stupid name. They the local gang?"
"One of them. We got lots of gangs 'round here. Velociriders are biker boys. Bats outta hell and all that rhetoric. But they're some mean sons of guns. Cold as rattlesnakes and twice as venomous."
Cash pulled a cigarillo from his jacket pocket and lit it. "Yeah, I get the point."
Bart's laugh was as dirty as his face. "You don't know where you are, do ya? This here ain't no place that kind of nonchalance. 'Round here there's just takers and fools getting took. Right now, your skimmer looks ripe for the taking. Word's spreading 'round town. They're gonna be coming for you. Sure as hell breaks loose in a megastorm, they're coming. Ain't no law gonna protect you, ain't nobody gonna lift a finger to help."
"Thanks for the tip, pal. You got what I need or not?"
Bart eased from his stool and dropped to the floor. "What are you paying with?"
"Got crypto."
"V-notes ain't good outside the Havens."
"V-notes are good everywhere."
Bart took a heavily modified shotgun from behind the counter and hefted it, shaking his head. "Not here. Now get out before Bart take your knees."
Cash flourished with his hand, revealing a stack of thin, nearly transparent cards. Each was threaded with gold and silver circuitry and had a chip embedded on one end.
"How about these?"
Bart's face lit up. "Bullion cards? Why didn't you just lead with that?"
"Because I didn't want to waste time on junk. I know you got the good stuff stashed somewhere. Or should I take my business somewhere else?"
"No need, brother." Bart flipped a switch on the wall, activating a heavily-tinted energy barrier that sealed the entrance before shuffling to the back of the store. Pushing stacks of boxes out the way, he placed a hand on the wall, activating a hidden recess. Row upon row of brand-new parts were stashed inside, some of them still in their original packaging.
Bart's eyes were still locked on the toke cards. "Why bother rebuilding the repulsor when you can buy a brand-new one? For four gold bulls, it's yours."
"Four bulls? I can buy a whole new repulsion system for that. One bull. Silver."
"All right, three gold. Best I can do for ya."
"Two. One gold, one silver. And don't press your luck. I'm pretty sure you're not the only shopkeeper with a hidden wall in his shop."
"I'm the only one who won't rip you off with used or rebuilt parts. But hell, Bart's in a good mood. One gold, one silver and it's yours. Can't say ol' Bart's not a fair man."
$$
Happy was waiting for him as soon as he stepped back outside. Grabbing his arm with her bionic arm, she pulled him in close.
"We gotta go."
"Ow, ease up, will you? What did you do—kill someone?"
Her bionic eye glimmered. "How did you guess?"
"Wait—you did kill someone? I was only in the shop for ten minutes!"
"Look, he drew on me. Every idiot in this town thinks he's a cowboy."
He folded his arms. "Well, expect me to collect if they put a bounty on your head. Serves you right."
"These aren't the kind of people that put out bounties, Cash. We better get going. I think the guy was a relative of this Judge that runs things around here."
He took a wary look around as they headed for the Blunderbore. "Are you serious?"
"I don't want to be around to find out."
Cash activated the vehicle doors and hopped in. "I thought you could take care of yourself."
"I can. It's you I'm worried about. You take a stray bullet and I'm out of a ride."
"Thanks for the concern." He started the engine and slammed on the gas. "What the hell happened? You said you were going for a beer."
"I did. The guy rolls up on me, starts talking about how he likes girls with metal parts and all. Wanted me to do something cool with my arm. So naturally, I punched him in the face with it."
"Nice. Guess he didn't take it too well."
"Nope. Couldn't take everyone laughing at him. You men are so sensitive that way. He went for his sidearm. I was faster."
He shook his head. "I've been in situations like that time and time again. Never had to kill a man to get out of one. You need to use lethal force as a last option, Happy."
An amused smile spread across her face. "You never should have brought me here if you didn't want anyone to die."
"Duly noted." He eyed the approaching gate. "If Tucker doesn't open that gate then we'll be sitting ducks."
Happy leaned back in her seat, eyelids half-closed. "I wouldn't worry about that."
As if on cue, the laser bars vanished, allowing them to roll through the gates unhindered. Cash glanced in the rearview mirror. Tucker leaned out the guardhouse window, watching them leave while talking on a bulky two-way radio.
Cash's eyes narrowed. "Too easy. Something's up."
"Shooting us in town would be too messy. Too many variables. They're planning on running us down and killing us out in the open."
"Well, you're the expert on killing. Guess you'd know."
"I do." She reached in the dusty satchel on her side and pulled out a bottle of Horse Piss lager. "Thought of you."
He grinned despite himself as he accepted the beer. Condensation slid down the icy-cold glass, dripping over his fingers. "I'm touched."
"A man shouldn’t be thirsty when he's fighting for his life."
"Damn straight." He chugged the lager and set an auto-pilot course for the Battle-Cat. "How much time do you think we have?"
"Before they send out the hounds? Couple of minutes, tops."
He held up the bottle. "Time enough."
Minutes later he pulled into the cargo bay in a cloud of stinging dust. Leaping out, he tossed the repulsor to Mateo, who lounged in the shade of the vehicle.
Mateo caught it with casual ease. "This is a brand-new part. How'd you get it in a junker town like that?"
"Don't worry about it, kid. How long until you can get this thing back up and running?"
"Half an hour."
Cash gritted his teeth. "That's twenty-five minutes too long."
Happy clambered back on top of the Battle-Cat, laying on her stomach and setting her rifle up on its bipod.
Cash glanced up at her. "You need a blanket or something? That hull has to be blazing hot."
She pushed a stray hair aside and peered into the scope, seemingly unaware of the searing heat or anything else. "I've been through worse."
"Suit yourself." Running back to the Blunderbore, he activated the back canopy. The panels slid open, revealing a mounted Browning .50 caliber machine gun complete with affixed protective flack shield.
Haven't fired this thing in a while. Hope it doesn't jam.
Mateo looked back
and forth, eyes wide. "Are we in trouble or something?"
"Nothing we can't handle. You just get that repulsor fixed, kid."
"But I can—"
Cash turned around. "Too many spoons, not enough coffee. Got it?"
Mateo's face scrunched in confusion. "No…?"
"It'll hit you later. Just do your job, kid. We're not going anywhere unless you get us back off the ground. Got it?"
"Sure, Cash. I got you." Mateo grinned and dashed off, sliding under the rig in one smooth motion.
On top of the Battle-Cat, Happy adjusted her scope. "Here they come."
Cash slipped his goggles on, activating the binocular mode. The distance leaped forward, giving him a view of the gang of masked men and women approaching on rumble bikes. Dark silhouettes against grainy brown, leaving plumes of dust behind them.
Ravagers.
He leaped onto the bed of the Blunderbore and took position behind the gun. "This shouldn't be too bad."
"Famous last words." Happy pulled the trigger. A few seconds later a biker tumbled off his rumble bike, flailing backward like a rag doll. His comrades swerved to avoid running over him.
"Nice shot!"
Happy didn't reply. Perfectly poised, she tracked the next target and fired again. Another biker tanked, slamming into the ground in a cloud of dust and broken earth.
"Got more company behind them."
Cash spotted the massive, six-wheeled military relic rumbling behind the bikers. Larger than the Blunderbore, it was reinforced with rusted plate armor and armed with a heavy machine gun manned by a maniac in black leather with brightly colored spiky hair. Other ravagers hung onto netting attached to the sides of the lumbering combat vehicle.
"Well, I was getting bored anyway." Cash leaped inside the Blunderbore, remotely linking the gun to Deejay's control. "I'm going for the big one. Cover me."
Happy never took her eye from the scope. "I got your six."
Cash slammed on the gas, surprised at the level of ease he felt with Happy. It had been a long time since he had someone watch his back. Not since being on the force, working side by side with Vardis. The two of them in the trenches of Los Diablos, kicking ass and taking names.
No. Don't even think about it. Those days are over. And the woman is an assassin, Cash. She'll probably try to blow your brains out whenever this is over. Never trust. Never again.
He focused on the attackers instead. A gang of ten or twelve bikers up front. He wasn't worried about them. They swerved wildly, aware they were being sniped and trying to make themselves difficult to target. A few noticed Cash and fired volleys of scattered gunfire, but only a few rounds managed to ricochet off the Blunderbore's armored hide. The closest biker's helmet exploded, courtesy of Happy's expert aim. His body was already limp by the time he bounced off the dusty ground.
Cash tapped the com in his ear. "Okay, Deejay. You got the gun. Show these guys we're not fooling around."
"Got it."
The Browning machine gun opened fire with an explosive roar. Even from inside the cabin, the noise was near-deafening. The nearest rumble bikes shredded under the barrage, the rounds tearing through metal almost as easily as flesh. The shots that missed tore the ground apart, kicking up blasts of crumbled earth.
The remaining bikers scattered, fleeing back toward the town or simply finding anywhere else to be other than targets for the combination of the Blunderbore's devastating rounds and Deejay's uncanny targeting. Cash drove through their ranks, headed toward the combat wheeler. The ravager handling the gun jerked twice when Happy's shots punctured his chest.
This almost isn't fair, Cash thought as he wheeled the Blunderbore for a flanking run. The ravagers on the side of the combat transport fired repeatedly, but their rounds bounced off his vehicle's armored plating.
A side panel popped open on the enemy transport. A ravager with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher leaned out and whooped as he fired the weapon. Cash didn't have time to even think before the impact struck like a giant sledgehammer. The side window splintered, searing heat flashed, and he was slung to the other side of the cab. The world turned upside down, the stench of scorched metal stung his nostrils.
He struggled to free himself. The seat had collapsed, the door buckled, pinning his arm. Outside, the ravagers spilled from the transport, running toward the Blunderbore firing their weapons. Bullets pinged off the shell and thick polycarbonate glass. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the rounds started to penetrate.
"Deejay." He tried to free his arm, but it remained painfully pinned. "Need a little help."
Her voice buzzed in his ear. "The ravagers are using their transport to block Happy's line of sight. She's maneuvering for a better shot. But don't worry. Backup's on the way."
Cash glanced outside the window. The ravager with the rocket launcher shoved his way through the crowd of screaming shooters. He spotted Cain and aimed his weapon with a twisted leer.
"Come on out, boy! You done messed up when you shot down the Judge's nephew. You damn sure did."
Cash pounded on the busted seat, finally freeing his arm. "I didn't kill anyone. Can't you idiots tell the difference between a woman and a man?"
The ravager paused, face wrinkled up in confusion. He waved his fellows in for a hurried conference. When they broke, he stepped closer and crouched, craning sideways to look at Cash.
"Okay. Maybe it weren't you that did the shooting. Tell ya what—you give us the bitch that did and we'll let ya live. Whaddya say?"
Cash's kept his gaze on the ravager while his hand scrambled over the deck, searching for his sidearm. "The woman you're looking for is the one that's been sniping you guys like flies. I got no problem with you taking her off my hands. She's been a royal pain in the ass the whole time she's been here."
The ravager flashed a mouthful of dirty teeth. "Then it's a deal. You call her over here, and we'll take her down."
Cash's hand closed on his firearm. "I got a better idea."
He raised the gun, aimed at the ravager's head and pulled the trigger. The retort boomed, nearly splitting his eardrums. Wincing, he squinted at the damage.
The bullet was stuck in the window of the cab, splintering the glass. Cash groaned.
The ravager tsked and shook his head. "Now that weren’t nice. Weren't nice at all. Guess I gotta kill ya."
An electrical hum was the only answer. Mateo leaped over the Blunderbore, wielding his arcsaber, the bluish laser edge sizzling with every movement. One swipe and the rocket launcher split in two. Another flash and the ravager wielding it suffered the same fate. Mateo somehow avoided being shot despite being in the middle of a swarm of attackers all firing at point-blank range. It was as if he moved at twice the speed they did. There was never a movement wasted, no hesitation or fear. His combat skills were simply on a different level. Most of the ravager's rounds hit each other instead of touching him. He flowed from one to the next, never still for a moment, arcsaber cutting through their ranks with unnatural ease.
By the time Cash kicked the cab door open, the fight was over. The survivors ran or drove their bikes back toward the town, throwing fearful looks behind them as they fled. Mateo stood in the middle of a dozen fallen bodies, a fierce look on his face. Cash stood silently for a moment, studying his new partner. He had no idea how someone could have developed such deadly skills at that age. Or what he would do if Mateo suddenly decided to break bad.
"Thanks for the help."
Mateo turned, changing almost miraculously from a hardened warrior to a boyish teen once more. A pleased grin flashed across his face. "Hi, Cash. Deejay said you needed a hand."
Cash eyed the carnage and nodded. "Yeah. Looks like I got it. You killed a lot of people, kid."
Mateo eyed the bodies and nodded. "Yeah. But they were bad."
"That's it, huh? What makes a person bad, kid?"
Mateo shut down his arcsaber and holstered it. "When they do bad things, Cash."
"I know that
, Mateo. I'm just trying to see how you make the determination. Where you draw the line. How your moral compass is calibrated."
The wind tugged at Mateo's silky black hair when he turned to look at Cash, face suddenly mature and thoughtful. "The Sister taught me to fight back when I'm attacked or when my friends are. We're friends, aren't we?"
"Yeah. We're friends, kid. But this is a lot. Killing takes something out of you. It eats at your humanity. I know."
"The Sister says that killing can be a mercy. That without reapers the weeds would overrun the fields."
"Is that right? Who is this Sister? She the one who raised you? Where is she now?"
Mateo's expression hardened. "I'm not allowed to say."
Cash sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. We gotta head out anyway. But first, let's take some scans of these stiffs."
"Why?"
"A gang like this is bound to have bounties posted for some of them. Might as well cash in on our hard work."
Chapter 7
Kirk Hamilton had been in nearly every Haven in the Allied Territories, but Los Nuevos was a Haven unlike any other. Aside from Haven Core, nothing compared in sheer spectacle. It was a shimmering jewel in the wastes of the Mojave Desert, built on the bones of Las Vegas. Kirk knew his history. He remembered studying the city that once was: constructed with dirty money, home to gangsters, fast women, money laundering, casinos. Coined Sin City, a moniker that remained long after the town was sanitized and reborn as a tourist trap.
That was before the Cataclysm. When the Residents awakened, they followed the lead of technical visionary Eric Maximillian, who invested his immense fortune and intellect into reworking the city into his image. A residence where genius was rewarded, where the cutting edge was honed to razor-sharpness. The technologies of tomorrow were created in a city renamed for its elusive mantra. The New—that was the goal of every scientist and technician who worked feverishly in the massive laboratories and manufacturing facilities. Technical miracles occurred every day; digital sorcery born from the top minds in their respective fields. But most of all, it was the pursuit of artificial consciousness and the creation of synthetic humanoids that gave the town an ironically similar nickname.
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